2ftrb=1lore 



A BI-MONTHLY MAGAZINE 



DBVOTED TO THE STUDY AND PROTECTION OF BIRDS 



Official Organ of The Audubon Societies 



Vol. XXIV March- April. 1922 No. 2 



When the Birds Come North 



By GRACE A. HILL, Pullman, Wash. 



ONE cold day in April, while we were having a snowstorm, the Eider 

 Ducks began to pass Synuk (a native village 30 miles north of Nome). 

 The Eskimo children said "ropes and ropes of them." They flew over 

 the frozen ocean about a quarter of a mile from the shore. For over a week 

 there was no time in the day when at least one black cloud was not visible 

 drifting past, and often for hours at a time there was a constant procession. 

 While they did not form the V of many migrating birds, they seemed to follow 

 a general head and often several long 'ropes' trailed out behind the flock. In 

 these the birds followed each other so precisely that the lines swept and curved 

 with as perfect undulations as though they were ribbons blown in the breeze. 

 Some of the Eskimo men hid, with their rifles, under projecting pieces of ice, 

 in the zone over which the birds were passing. Soon they returned with as many 

 Ducks as they could carry — whereupon the village had a period of feasting. 

 Contrary to what might be expected, the birds were fat, and their flesh, unlike 

 that of the same birds in the fall, was of good flavor. 



The male King Eider, when he comes north, is a beautiful bird, with orange- 

 yellow ear coverts, a lavender crown with soft green side-stripes, and a warm 

 cream-colored breast. He has a white patch on each wing and white tail 

 coverts, and for the rest is shining black. Before he goes south in the fall, 

 however, he has changed this gay attire for a plain brown dress much like that 

 which the female wears north. 



Practically all of the Eiders passing Synuk were King Eiders. A small flock 

 of the Northern or Greenland Eiders, however, summered on Sledge Island 

 (an island in Bering Sea about five miles from the village). 



At Synuk the ocean ice breaks up about June 1. For a week the floes drift 

 about near the shore or lie idly basking in the sun, and for the only week in the 

 year when not ice-bound the habitually stormy water is held in subjection. The 

 birds seem enamored of this smooth sea, with its floating ice-cakes, and go 

 drifting back and forth over its surface. For many it is still the vacation 

 period, before the nesting-time. Their cries make a rare medley. There is the 



